


the seer and the spectacle (are one)

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [192]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Art, Artist Nerdanel, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Flashback, Formenos, Gen, Historical Cameos, This is very random but I wanted to do it for some reason, also I get annoyed with Emerson but he had some interesting quotes, the thought of Nerdanel having a famous client and Feanor being jealous is funny to me, title is quote by Emerson ofc, unrelated to anything else happening in the AU right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: One had to bow to talent, unless one simply turned one’s back and ran into the woods.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Fëanor | Curufinwë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Nerdanel, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Nerdanel & Sons of Fëanor
Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [192]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	the seer and the spectacle (are one)

“Sit by the door, Celegorm,” said Mother, “and do not let your father in.”

Celegorm would not have been at home, were it not for an earache. He would not have had the earache if he had not tried fishing, half-submerged, in Orome’s pond. At the time, it had seemed clever: to meet the fish in their own territory. Now, though, he was trapped in a battle of wit and wills of which he wanted no part.

“Athair is not even _here_ ,” he complained, but he forced himself not to growl. Mother could be quite fearsome about growling.

“He is poking about,” Mother said, and shut the door firmly in between them. There were already smears of white and ochre paint on her hands. Muffled, she added, “I cannot be disturbed.”

It was just as well, Celegorm reflected, that he had no talent whatsoever as far as forge or canvas was concerned. He could read leaves better than books (though books were all very well, sometimes), and he could skin rabbits (which were, admittedly, loose-skinned) with only a few cuts. 

Thus armed with ignorance and other interests, he hated his parents’ pursuits.

They would not send him to the City, and they would not teach him their trades. Wanting neither, he held fast to his hatred.

Perhaps he had inherited the trait from Athair. Maglor would suggest as much if he were here; only to whine and wince if Athair happened to overhear him. Maglor was a coward.

In truth, Athair _had_ hated their recent dinner guest, which was not itself a surprise—Athair hated many people, and always with interest and passion—

But this guest had been rather _like_ Athair in some ways. He was full of ideas about the workings of the world; writing, religion, nature, and a good deal of rambling about the soul.

Celegorm hadn’t found him to be important.

This hadn’t been a surprise, either.

The dinner-guest had said:

 _“We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal_ one.”

Athair had tapped his long forefinger on the tabletop, smiling his thinnest, most enraged smile, and _he_ had answered, “ _But what useful worth do men obtain from your lectures, sir? What are they to_ build _, that is of universal beauty?”_

 _“Community, I still hope_.” Mr. Emerson had smiled, almost sadly. He had light, piercing eyes; dog-eyes, thought Celegorm then, though his nose was more like the beak of a hawk. _“Though I am no longer an expert on the subject. I am a lonely land- and water-lord now, Mr. Feanorian.”_

Athair said, afterwards, that he despised such indecision.

Celegorm thought it might have more to do with the lectures, and the fact that Mr. Emerson had not asked to see the forge.

Mr. Emerson _had_ taken a great interest in Mother’s paintings, however. He saw the silhouette of Maitimo above the piano—done in cut paper when he was only eleven, standing with his chin tilted up—and after that, the conversation took a turn for the artistic.

When he departed, he clasped both of Mother’s hands in his.

 _Affections cannot keep their youth any more than men_ , he had said gravely, while Celegorm discreetly wiped his nose on the edge of his sleeve. _But you, ma’am, have youth in all your works._

“What is your mother doing in there?” Athair demanded, and Celegorm, who had been daydreaming as well as poking at his throbbing ear, nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Painting.”

“I would like to speak to her.”

“What about?” Celegorm countered, then bit his tongue. Athair’s cool stare descended on him.

“Try me again, Turcafinwe.”

“I only mean,” Celegorm said, summoning Maitimo’s conciliatory spirit to mind, without much effect, “That she asked not to be disturbed.”

“And you thought she included _me_ in the banished ranks?”

“Feanor! Chew on your jealous cud with the cattle!” Mother shouted through the door, and Celegorm rolled sideways, into a loping run, before battle-lines could truly be redrawn.

In the end, he saw the final piece, and despite his dislike for Mr. Emerson’s flowery talk, and his even greater disdain for the turmoil his request had caused, Celegorm liked what Mother had made.

That was the trouble with Mother and Athair both. They had talent. One had to bow to talent, unless one simply turned one’s back and ran into the woods.

The painting was done in watercolor. There was the shadow of a rocking chair, but the woman seated on it was bathed in light. So much light, in fact, that her face, turned towards an open window, could not be seen.

Celegorm suspected that she was someone dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Some Emerson quotes in here. His first wife died after only two years of marriage, at twenty, and he was Very Sad about it (as one would expect). He kept her rocking chair. He also got paid a lot for giving lectures on many different subjects, which is the kind of career you know would piss Feanor off, seeing how Feanor would LOVE to be paid for talking.


End file.
